October 27, 2006

Sometimes, on an impulse, I set up a Google alert for a word that strikes me for some reason or another. I'm looking for some random input, just to shake things loose. The other day -- I can't remember why -- I set up the word "bestial." This word drags in the weirdest stuff, mostly garbage, but today, it brought this.

NOW as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering side by side, And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more, Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied, The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

In Heaven,Some little blades of grassStood before God.“What did you do?”Then all save one of the little bladesBegan eagerly to relateThe merits of their lives.This one stayed a small way behindAshamed.Presently God said:“And what did you do?”The little blade answered: “Oh, my lord,“Memory is bitter to me“For if I did good deeds“I know not of them.”Then God in all His splendorArose from His throne.“Oh, best little blade of grass,” He said.

If you had searched for "beast" instead of "bestial," you might have gotten another Stephen Crane poem:

God lay dead in heaven;Angels sang the hymn of the end;Purple winds went moaning,Their wings drip-drippingWith bloodThat fell upon the earth.It, groaning thing,Turned black and sank.Then from the far cavernsOf dead sinsCame monsters, livid with desire.They fought,Wrangled over the world,A morsel.But of all sadness this was sad —A woman's arms tried to shieldThe head of a sleeping manFrom the jaws of the final beast